Hi, my name's Teagan
and I'm a hoarder. I've been hoarding for over 22 years now.
Very dramatic but
true. I'm a fourth generation hoarder. I come from a family of squirrels. It's
pathological. It's genetic. It's... taking up alot of space.
When my parents
separated when I was 15, every return trip I made back home to Dad's I would do
my best to throw out whatever random crap I could find and reduce the clutter
by one cardboard box each trip. It took many visits home but eventually I cut
back the amount of stuff I had down to 3 cardboard boxes and one large toy
chest. A vast improvement from having one entire wall obscured by cardboard
boxes.
In Katherine
everything I own is packed away in boxes. It can't be helped. I have no permanent
address.
But what's my excuse
for all the random boxes in Wudinna? A collection of odds and sods from 2000
right through to 2006 when I started permanently living in the Territory. Time
for a reduction!
First off I had to
find all my stuff. Some of it was in storage at what is now my brother's flat
but previously a neglected section of the motel. Some of it was in Mum's flat,
hidden amongst all her crap which she lacks time and drive to go through. And
some of it was in the garage which can barely fit Peter's scooter let alone the
car.
My brother and I
worked together to get all my stuff out of his space, which was formally the
women's latrines for what was once the original restaurant and bar of the motel,
and put all his stuff back in there again. While we were at it we ripped out
the old toilets. No one's gonna pee in them or have peed in them for at least
20 years so why not?
Getting all my stuff
out the garage ruffled someones feathers. Nevermind that, with my stuff removed,
theirs got put onto a shelf rather than continue to sit on the floor.
Bit by bit, day by
day I poked through it coming across little surprises of "Wow, I remember
this!" and "WTF do I have this for?". By the end of it all I had
thrown out two heavy duty garbage bags of rubbish, put together a box of things
that will go into our garage sale for whenever the rest of my family decide to
sort out their stuff and compiled another box of mostly writing paper,
notebooks, scrapbooking magazines and other random things that Mum and my sister-in-law
might like or use.
Parked up in the big,
recently built, already chock-a-block shed is my four-wheeled baby, Faith, my
1979 Ford Escort panel van. Right in the back corner she is, where I can't
drive her out to enjoy her 3.5 cylinders sideways. Her completely original body
marred with a latch bolt on the back doors, roof racks and random hooks
pot-riveted to her internal framework, albeit the weaker bits. Someone at some
point forgot to let the handyman know that it is still my car. My precious baby
now needs some love with a small angle grinder and some putty and paint.
Taking back
possession of my little baby, I pulled odds and ends out of random places where
I never knew things could be stored, all the while swearing and cussing and
grumbling every bad word under the sun. I swept out the back and tidied up a
few old cobwebs.
Time for the final
cleansing. One box at a time I put everything I owned into the back of her,
neatly stacking it for the day I settle down. All loaded and ready to go, all
she needs now is my single bed to be strapped onto her roof racks, a large tarp
to be tied over her and to be loaded on to a car trailer ready to be towed to
wherever I finally find to spend the rest of my life, wherever I live long
enough to start hoarding a new life.
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